Questioning
by pocketcucco
Summary: Haytham asks Connor about his mother on their return to General Washington's camp. It doesn't go as planned.


It's been SO LONG since I've written AC3... I didn't realize how much I missed Connor and Haytham!

* * *

 _ **Questioning**_

Haytham crouched at the edge of a roof, balancing carefully on the balls of his feet. Connor came to a halt beside him with an irritated huff.

"Why have you stopped?"

"Patience, Connor. We'll return to your beloved General Washington in due time."

"Not if we just stand here."

Haytham turned to face him. It was difficult to see his expression when his face was half-hidden by the hood of his robes. Why did the Assassins insist on wearing those things? It concealed their features, that much was true, but it wasn't very inconspicuous.

Connor stared back at him, eyebrow crooked. "What?"

" Never mind. Let's continue."

Connor gave a nod, and Haytham flung himself gracefully from the edge of the roof and onto a neighboring one. He was surprised that his body was still letting him run and jump like this so easily.

He glanced back at Connor as he paused beside a chimney. He had a sturdier build than most of the Assassins Haytham had seen in years past, but he was just as quick, just as agile. How did he learn all of this from an old man who could barely walk? Was it from his mother, perhaps?

"You are slowing down," Connor said as he passed, scaling the chimney in a few quick jumps. There was a hint of challenge in his voice. One that Haytham couldn't deny. He clambered up after Connor, reaching the top just as swiftly.

"Remember what I said about patience? No need to be so rash," he said.

"We cannot afford to waste time."

No, Haytham wanted to retort, you're just impatient. But he let it go and returned his focus to the task at hand. There was little to be gained from arguing.

The entirety of New York - or their small section, at least - spread before them like a map. Haytham would have preferred to travel by horse on the streets below, but they were choked with people and militia; it would take too much time.

"There's a stable out there," Connor said, pointing in the direction of the frontier. The dark smudge of green was just barely visible through the city's fine layer of chimney smoke. "We can rent horses and take them to General Washington's camp."

"Easy enough." He turned to his son with a wry grin. "Fancy seeing who makes it there first?"

"A race?" Connor asked, incredulous.

"A test of skill."

"Ha. You must be confident that you can best me."

"Oh, I am."

Haytham leapt to the next building and started to run. Connor gave an amused snort and followed after him a heartbeat later.

And Connor was so _fast._ Even with his headstart, Haytham found himself just a few paces behind the Assassin.

"Who taught you all of this?" Haytham shouted. He grabbed onto the bricks jutting from a wall and hoisted himself up. Connor tried the same and missed by inches. He fell behind.

"My mother," he called back. "So I could hunt. I did not see myself using my skills like this."

Ah. So Haytham assumed correctly. He darted up and around a wooden railing.

Connor was suddenly beside him again, and they were leaping through the city together.

Haytham still couldn't see all of his face, but he didn't need to. Connor's half smile was enough.

"Distracted?" his son asked.

Haytham returned the grin with one of his own.

"Never mind me. Just focus on keeping up."

They moved in silence for some time, eventually trading the roofs for the streets below when the buildings grew too far apart to safely traverse. The outskirts of New York were blessedly silent and empty – a welcome relief after weeks stuck on the _Aquila_ that brought them to Benjamin Church.

They ran side by side for a short while before Haytham slowed his pace to a jog. His chest was starting to ache; maybe his body _was_ a bit more tired than he was ready to admit.

He assumed Connor would race ahead to the stables, but the Assassin stopped nearby.

"Done already?" he asked.

Haytham waved him off. "We'll need our strength for the ride to the encampment."

"I _suppose_ that is true."

"This also gives me a chance to touch on something that I've wanted to bring up for a while now. Your response earlier reminded me."

"And what is that?"

Haytham risked a glance in Connor's direction. His expression was open, curious. He was staring back at Haytham, eyebrows raised.

"I've had a few questions about your mother. About Ziio," Haytham said tentatively. This might be his only chance to ask Connor while he was still in a good mood; the last time he'd asked, in the darkness of Church's warehouse, hadn't gone quite so well.

"About what she taught me? She showed me how to climb the trees outside the village."

"She used to tease me, you know. By climbing to the treetops while I was stuck down below."

Connor laughed gently. "You never learned to follow her? It is easy."

"I never needed to. Unless I wanted to chase after her, of course."

"She told me once that one of her favorite memories was of you tramping through the snow beneath her, trying to keep up."

Haytham chuckled. "Yes, that happened quite often. She thought it was hilarious."

The laughter between them died down, and they walked without speaking for a while longer. Connor's mood seemed to have lifted a bit more – Haytham thought it might be a good opportunity to ask another question.

"Connor, how was she before she passed?"

His son's expression sobered instantly. "She was fine."

Connor seemed content to leave it at that, but Haytham pressed him.

"Did she raise you in her village? I would assume she did – she went there shortly after we ended our relationship."

"Yes. I was there until I began my training," he said, carefully. "She rarely spoke about you, but I knew who you were."

"I expected as much," Haytham said – though the confirmation still stung. "We did not part on the best of terms. I suppose I just... I wanted to know if she was happy. She must have been – she had you with her."

Connor stopped to look at him. His mouth was twisted in a frown, and his eyes... They were so hard to read.

"If you wanted to know, why did you avoid her?"

"She wanted me to stay away. I was to have no contact with her – and with you, I see now."

A pause. Connor's voice was quieter when he spoke again. "Did you miss her?"

"Yes. I look back now, and I have to wonder what would have happened if I did go back? But I did as she asked. She would have been very angry if I went against her word. I wanted her to know that I still respected her wishes. That, above that, I still respected her."

"But the village was burned by your command-"

"It absolutely was not. I _never_ would have given that command."

Something in his father's tone made Connor stop. Haytham kept walking for a few more moments, distracted by the anger that was rising up in his chest.

"Then it was Charles Lee acting on his own," Connor said.

"I doubt that. He's loyal to me."

"But his hatred for my people could have driven him to do it."

Haytham opened his mouth to argue - and stopped. There was no point. He swallowed his words and pressed on.

"Come," he beckoned. "Weren't you the one who was so intent on seeing Washington?"

"I have one more question," Connor said.

Haytham bit back a curse.

"What?"

"Did you love her?"

It was a question he'd asked himself so many times over the past twenty-something years, but Connor's words still punched a hole through his chest. Haytham closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. How to respond? Even he didn't know the answer. Not really.

"Like I said, I had – _have_ – a great respect for Ziio. And I cared very much for her while we were together."

Connor folded his arms over his chest. "That does not answer the question."

"That is the best answer I can give you."

The Assassin exhaled quietly and let his arms fall back to his sides.

"Let's go," he said, motioning to the road. "General Washington is waiting for us to return."

"Connor-"

"I do not want to discuss it anymore."


End file.
